Instead
by wolf-with-snake-eyes
Summary: What if Stiles was bitten instead?
1. Bitten

**Title: Instead**

**Chapter: (1) Bitten**

**Spoiler: 01X01**

**Summary: What if Stiles was bitten instead?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf**

Clawing up into a sitting position, Stiles whimpered, "Fucking Scott, leaving me to do this on my own." He shifted to sit against a tree, hitting the back of his head against the rough bark. He hopped the dull ache it would cause, would keep his mind off of the agonizing pain stemming from the massive bite on his inner thigh.

Earlier that night his dad had received a phone call. The station called his dad in when half of a body was found in the woods by a couple of hikers. They dispatched the state police along with all local authorities to find the other half.

Stiles couldn't not try and find it for himself. He had called Scott, and was told that he had to pick up his mom from work so adventuring wasn't an option tonight.

Stiles whimpered again, as he heard a rustling in the background. "Stay calm, I have got to stay calm." He looked around, a flash of panic running through his system as he breathed hard. "Not every day that you get to run into a huge wolf named Cujo and get bit. Exciting really . . . Except for the fact that it's not. Nope, no excitement. All wonder of finding the dead body gone," Stiles rambled on as he began to slowly lift himself into a standing position.

"I found the dead body, and now I am rabid wolf chow, not the way I wanted to die," Stiles shrugged his shoulders, "But hey at least it's in style."

He began to walk in the direction he thought his truck sat, parked. He held a make-believe microphone up to his mouth as he limped, "So Scott, how did you feel when you left your friend to die alone in the woods."

He turned his head, "Well I am sad, you know, he was my best friend. But I mean, mauled by a giant wolf; must have been epic." Sarcasm lite his tone as he imitated Scott's nasally voice.

"God, how am I going to ever live this down?" He threw his hands up, "The first and only wolf in California for the past sixty years and Genim Stiles Stilinski will be mauled by it."

He was quiet for the rest of the slow agonizing walk back to his Jeep. When he had reached the vehicle, gotten in was when he began to break down; his panic taking hold for a brief second.

"I am alive," he said after a few minutes of harsh breathing, "I am alive." Stiles blanked out, his vision leaving his as everything became too much.

Stiles woke to a chirping. "Oh, my head," he lifted himself up off the steering wheel, "Crap what happened?"

Stiles blinked a few times, clearing his vision, as he cracked his neck. He leaned to his left, tumbling down onto the ground outside his Jeep. Looking up into his car he huffed, "I didn't leave that open," he scrunched his brows together, "I-oh, no," he looked at his thigh. _What? When? How? _His leg was bandaged, the blood clotted and staining the dressing, but bandaged.

He got up off the ground, leaning on the door for support, careful to not put any weight on his leg. Slowly he transferred his weight, "Ow, ow, ow, ow . . . Wait not ow. Why not ow? It doesn't hurt." Looking down at his leg, "Why doesn't it hurt?"

He grinned, and looked at his watch, "Shit . . . shit, shit, shit! Dad is going to kill me." He slammed the door closed, starting the Jeep and speeding away.

Stiles smiled as he pulled into the driveway, his dad's patrol car nowhere in sight. "Lucky—so lucky!"

Stiles jumped startled as his phone went off. Fumbling with it, he flipped it open, "If I die, the name I was given at my birth is not to be put on the head stone."

"Stiles? What in the hell are you talking about?" His father's voice sounded on the other line.

"I-well . . ."

"Were you having another nightmare? Did you watch another one of those documentary things that I told you not to?" the voice on the other side of his phone was frustrated and slightly amused.

"Um . . ."

"No—wait, I don't want to know." Stiles huffed listening, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it home last night or this morning, I will try for tonight, but no promises."

Stiles let his hand drift up to his forehead, "Yeah alright," the sheriff was going to hang up when Stiles spoke up, "Hey don't forget to eat. I love you too, bye." He hung up, getting out of the car. It was time to get ready for school.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles waited on the steps outside the school waiting for Scott to show. He impatiently gripped his bag, hopping up and down, to settle his nerves. "Come _on _Scott."

He watched as he best friend rode into the parking lot, parking his bike at the edge of the bike rack. Stiles threw his hands up in the air, turning around with his hands on his hips, impatient.

"Stiles!" he turned to Scott's voice, "Dude what happened last night?"

Stiles grinned, "Well I found a dead body."

"Wait, what?" Scott pulled back from him slightly.

"Well actually I rolled around on top of a dead body, with not knowing it was there, and dropping my flashlight." Stiles made a face.

"Rolled arou—god Stiles gross," Scott, gagged.

"Yeah, yeah I had that reaction to . . . Until the thing that killed the dead body found me." Stiles turned away, not letting Scott get a word in edge wise, "Pretty sure it was a wolf, which shouldn't be possible since there are NO wolves in California."

"Seriously?" Scott hefted his bag up on his shoulder.

"Uh yeah—the thing bit me. I have a huge bite on my thigh," Stiles bobbed his head.

"How did you get away?" Scott jumped eyes wide, "Dude, what if you get rabies?"

"I am not going to get rabies," Stiles shifted in on himself, whispering only to where he could hear, "At least I hope not."

Scott shifted, "Can I see?"

"See what?"

"The bite."

"Uh well no," Stiles shook his head, "Cause then I would have to take off my pants. And Scott, that would mean entering the gay zone—with you, and you're my brother, so that would be incest. Though I don't have a problem with the gay zone, in the least, with well anyone else . . ." Stiles though for a moment, "Except Jackson."

Scott stood staring at him for a moment, deciding to ignore Stiles he asked, "So the body huh," they turned to walk up the steps.

"Yeah I know, this is like the best thing to happen to Beacon Hills since . . ." a strawberry blonde walked past them, her strut right off the runway, "Since the birth of Lydia Martin."

Stiles gapped for a second as Lydia turned around to him, surveying him, "Who are you?" Her voice was sickly sweet.

"I am uh-Stiles," Stiles offered, still in awe.

"Are you new here?"

"Well, no. We have been in the same class since Kindergarten. You pelted me with a yellow crown when I called you pretty." Stiles supplied.

"Hmm," her eyes narrowed. After a brief second she gave a simpering smile, "So you're new here."

Stiles forehead wrinkled.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, "I will be seeing you around hotty."

Stiles' jaw dropped as she turned around, swaying her hips.

"Did she . . . just?"

"Dude," Scott slapped Stiles on the back.

Stiles straightened, "That didn't feel as good as I thought it would," he mumbled, wiping his forehead.

They walked into the school, Scott paying more attention to Stiles, "What are you wearing?"

"You are just full of questions today," Stiles shook his head.

"But really," Scott urged.

Stiles looked down at his outfit. He was sporting a black, thermal shirt that was two sizes too small, along with his union jeans hoodie that was also two sizes too small. His jeans, as a running theme were tighter then he normally wore them. It was laundry day. "Laundry day."

"Keep it up, whatever this style is, Lydia might notice you more." Scott spoke sagely as they sat down in their seats.

"What, wearing all my clothes from like a year ago?" Stiles was incredulous.

"If it works," Scott shrugged. "When did you get all . . . muscled looking? Like a week ago you were all stick figure like." He motioned with his hands.

Stiles huffed, "Again with the questions. And I don't know man, probably this summer from all the practicing we did."

Stiles turned away to glance out the window, a knock startling him out of his reverie. He looked up and at the door.

"Class this is our newest arrival, Allison Argent," the principal supplied, closing the door as he left.

She stood awkwardly at the front of the class, pursing her lips, "There is a seat left in the back Ms. Argent, behind Mr. McCall." She nodded taking her seat. "Now class let's turn to page 143, we will be studying Kafka's Metamorphosis."

It hit Stiles like a brick to the head, a musky unappealing scent. Looking around, he tried to pinpoint where it came from. Sneering he looked around the classroom, finally narrowing down that it was Scott. Sniffing he caught a whiff of mint mojito gum . . . coming from his pocket. He could smell the new girl's rosy perfume, and the teacher's cologne, along with the fact Jacob Galey hadn't taken a shower in at least four days. "God," he whispered harshly, putting his hands on his head.

A rustling sounded next to him. Stiles peeked over at the new girl, she was frantically going through her purse, miming the word pen over and over again. Stiles took the gum out of his pocket, unwrapping it and writing – _give the new girl your extra pen. _He wrapped it back up, and glancing around, "Scott," Scott looked back at him, catching the gum as it was tossed to him.

Scott took his cue and turned to give Allison his extra pen.

She smiled, "Thanks," receiving only a nod from Scott.

Stiles groaned as Scott's musk intensified once more, just as Allison's own rose perfume was permeated with cinnamon, rosemary, and something else Stiles couldn't identify. He groaned. It was going to be a long day.

The day went by slowly, classes taking far to long for Stiles to bare. Interminably he would get heightened senses. When his hearing heightened he could hear everything from several classes over. His sense of touch, sent shivers up his spin when anyone did something as simple as a squeeze to the back of his neck. His sense of smell was worse, giving him raging headaches as the intense smells of teen perfume, angst, stress, and arousal.

He stood at his locker; head down as Scott stood next to him staring off at the new girl, as she was bombarded by Lydia and Jackson.

"A party?" Stiles whipped his head up to gaze at the group as Allison voice rang clear as day.

"Yeah, tomorrow night, everyone is going," Lydia offered.

"Well I can't tomorrow night is family night. My dad is a stickler." Allison nodded.

"You sure, it's after the scrimmage game," Jackson spoke.

"Like football?" Allison asked.

Jackson laughed, "Football is a joke here. The sport here is Lacrosse. We have won the championship for the past three years."

Stiles shook his head, hitting Scott across the chest, "She says she can't go to the party this Friday, but I bet if the right person asked her she would go."

"Really, you think so," Scott turned to Stiles.

Stiles nodded, grabbing the back of Scott's t-shirt and dragging him to practice.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

"Are you seriously going to leave me all alone on the bench?" Stiles demanded.

"I can't sit on the sidelines again Stiles, I am making first line," Scott said firmly.

"Well good for you," Stiles looked on to the field voice sarcastic.

The coach was approaching as Stiles went to place his things on the bench, "McCall," the coach threw gear at him, "Your play goal."

Stiles watched the scene unfold before him with a cringe, until Scott began to get the groove of it. "Who knew?" Scott was catching most of the balls flying at him.

The coach came to sit down on the bench, "Bilinski," he pointed to Scott, "Did you know that he was any good?"

"Uh-no coach, must be natural talent?" He had meant it as a statement, but it came out more of a question.

"Huh," the coach scratched his head, "Bilinski!"

"Yeah coach?"

"You warm up with Danny on field two; he needs to practice in the goal."

"Right coach," Stiles huffed, getting up from the bench. "Danny," he called jogging over.

Danny looked up from his equipment, "What," he snapped.

"Coach said to practice with you on field two," Stiles shrugged.

Danny looked up and over his shoulder, seeing the coach yelling at the rest of the team. Turning he said, "Yeah alright, let's go."

The jogged over to the field just on the other side of the tree line where some of the other player stood doing drills under the second coach. Danny nodded to the coach, heading for the goal. Checking his equipment, he tossed the balls at Stiles and maneuvering himself into place. "Ready when you are."

Stiles hefted a ball into the net of his crosse and shot it at Danny not really trying.

"Come on Stiles, I actually want practice, at least try and be decent," Danny shouted.

"Yeah, yeah I got it, do better." Stiles gave him a thumbs up. He hefted another ball into the pocket and took a breath. He let everything go, opened his eyes, and let it fly.

Danny stood dumb-founded, jaw slack, as he looked back behind him to the ball. He picked it up and tossed it with his stick back to Stiles. "Again, just like that."

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles stumbled through the brush, Scott just behind him. "Today was too much, I could hear, see, and smell things that I shouldn't be able to. My head was splitting in half for more than half the day."

"Like what," Scott asked.

"I smelled your arousal today Scott and knowing when you're aroused is not something that I feel the need to know," Stiles voice pitched. Scott said nothing for a beat, following after Stiles.

"Why are we out here again?" Scott asked, breathing hard.

"One to find the dead body, and two, to find my flashlight," Stiles explained.

"Why is your flashlight so important?"

"My dad bought it for me when I was into the whole outdoors thing; it's like a sixty dollar flashlight." Stiles stopped dead, "Here, it should be here, I dropped my flashlight over there," he pointed over by the tree where the beast from last night bit him.

"It's not here anymore," Scott looked around, "Do you think the wolf ate it?"

Stiles turned around to look blankly at Scott, his eyes widening at the sight of the figure behind him.

Scott turned around, "What are you looking at? Oh . . ."

"What are you doing here," the figure, tall dark, and undeniably handsome, demanded.

"Uh, well we are looking for my flas-flashlight." Stiles gulped as Derek stared at them. He stepped back slightly as his senses heightened once more. Cedar, musk, and a spice he knew but couldn't name assaulted his nose. He liked this scent. This scent didn't give him a headache.

"This is private property," Derek walked toward them.

"Sorry man, we didn't know," Scott offered.

"Well leave," Derek threw the flashlight at Stiles and began to walk away.

"Yeah ok~ay," Stiles looked after Derek as he walked away, "So that was Derek Hale."

"Who?"

"Derek, don't you remember, Derek Hale, he is only like three years older than us." Stiles jumped up and down. "His family was massacred in that fire, I remember they pulled him out of class when it happened. He never came back to school."

"I still don't remember," Scott said, shaking his head as they headed back. "I have to get to work Stiles."

"Yeah, fine, let's get back to the jeep."

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles walked into his house, throwing the keys on the counter, and dashing to the fridge. He opened it in a flourish and yanked the milk out, popping off the lid an chugging it down.

"Stiles," his dad was standing at the entrance of the kitchen. Stiles jumped, surprised spilling some onto his chin, "Put the milk back in the fridge."

Stiles slowly pulled the carton away, wiping his chin with his sleeve, and putting the milk back into the fridge, "So the milk is back in the fridge."

His dad shifted his weight, folding his arms across his chest. "How was school today?"

"The usual . . ."

"Were you giving any of the teacher's trouble?"

"Nooo," he drew the word out deliberately looking away.

"Did you take your Adderall this morning?" Stiles nodded. "Are you going to be okay tonight, I have to go in," the sheriff hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

"What about dinner?" Stiles asked.

"I planned to grab something on my way in," the sheriff said gruffly.

"No curly fries," Stiles waved his finger at his dad.

"Good night Stiles," the sheriff said turning around and walking out the front door.

"See you later Dad," Stiles called after him as the door closed. "Like never," he added a bit bitterly. "Great, okay . . ." he bit his lip and took off for the stairs, taking two at a time.

He was half way up when he stopped abruptly, "Pepper, white pepper, that's what he smelled like, cedar, musk and white pepper." He smiled softly, making it up the rest of the stairs and into his room. He threw his backpack to the floor and himself onto his bed. Curling up into a ball he began to process all that happened.

Falling asleep, he pulled his comforter up and around himself, feeling overwhelmed.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles was pulling the last of his books out of his locker when it slammed shut by a tan hand. He followed the hand to the arm and up to the face of a very serious Danny. "What can I do you for, this lovely day Danny?"

"Why aren't you more serious during practice, if you got more serious, you do realize you would make first line, right?" Stiles shrugged, "Stiles!"

"I can't right now Danny; I have got some other stuff on my plate," Stiles shrugged his backpack on.

"Whatever man, but if we need you, I am outing you." Danny said walking down the hall with him to practice.

Stiles stopped abruptly, "Outing?" Stiles squeaked.

Danny stopped turning around to him, "Is there something else that can be outed?"

"I-" Stiles looked at Danny in the eyes, unsure.

Danny shrugged, "Come on man, let's get to practice," he swung his arm over Stiles' shoulders. He smelled of amber and lilies, something that wasn't entirely unpleasant, and wasn't something that gave him a headache.

Stiles' phone went off as Danny separated himself from Stiles to get dressed. He flipped it open with a flick of his finger, seeing his dad's number. "Hey dad, oh, yeah," he hung up.

"Stiles," Scott called from the bench. "Allison agreed to go on a date with me!"

"What," Stiles spastically jumping up and down, "Awesome dude."

"And Jackson accused me of steroids," Scott said a brief smile flitting across his face.

Stiles grinned at him.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

His finger clicked deftly over the keyboard. His eyes roved over the screen, printing off legend after myth that had to do with werewolves. Words flew across the screen: Silver, wolfsbane, lycanthropy, aconite. He picked up one of the books he had brought home from the library, comparing notes. Turning back to the screen, he held his hand up to his mouth at the picture of a hunter pointing a crossbow at a wolf baring his teeth.

The sun began to set . . . the moon setting up into the sky.

A knock on his door had him scrambling out of his chair. He rushed to the door opening it to a hunched over Scott.

"Come on, come on, get in here," Stiles ushered her in.

"What is this Stiles; I'm supposed to pick Allison up in, like an hour." Scott was irritated, looking at his watch.

Stiles sat in his chair, "I think there is something wrong with me."

"What do you mean?"

"Wha-_what_ do I mean?" Stiles mimicked, "I mean there is something _wrong_ with me. Scott I don't know what to do? My senses are going haywire; I'm getting irritated at the smallest things. Things like my dad not being around. I grew honest to god claws this morning when I woke up this morning."

"What am I supposed to do Stiles?" Scott demanded, "I don't get what I am supposed to do."

"Scott," Stiles' voice broke, "I think I am a werewolf."

"What! Stiles seriously," Scott was shouting, he shot up from his spot on the bed, he turned to the door.

"I am being serious," Stiles also shot up faster than Scott.

"I'm leaving, I have a date," Scott began his trek for the door.

"I need help, it's the full moon. I can feel it Scott."

"Bye Stiles," Scott's hand were on the doorknob when his wrist was grabbed, nails-claws pinching into his skin. "Wha-"

Stiles whipped Scott around, slamming him against the door. Scott froze staring into glowing amber-red eyes. Stiles stiffened seeing fear leak into to Scott's eyes. He let him go, backing up into the corner on the other side of his room. "Sorry . . . I . . . Sorry." He crouched down clutching his head, "Sorry."

"Stiles?" Scott stood, still frozen.

"Leave, just . . . leave," Stiles heard the door open and close.

He stumbled up into a standing position and into the bathroom. He turned the shower on ice cold and got in, clothes and all, breathing hard.

He sat there for a while before he lifted himself out of the tub and walked back to his room soaking the carpet as he dripped. He pulled off his shirt and peeled off his jeans, standing stark naked in his room. He walked over to his dresser pulling out a pair of red sweatpants and slipping them on before crawling into his bed. A growl sounded deep, in the middle of his chest, sounding like a purr. He let himself drift off.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles came to as his body began to convulse, he opened his mouth to scream but stopped just in time, unsure if his dad was home. "Ungh," he moaned in pain as tremors racked his frame. He looked down at his hands, his vision blurring to red, his hands curling, claws out and sharp. He had to get out of here, he could feel it. The need to hunt, curling in his stomach, the want to tear something apart. He looked at the door as he heard a knock.

"Stiles? Stiles are you okay?" his Dad called.

"Fine, Dad," his voice was harsh, his breath coming hard. He needed an excuse for his Dad to not come into his room, a reason to stay away for the remainder of the night, maybe some avoidance in the morning. "Dad, remember when we talked about me needing privacy for Stiles' special time? This-this is that time." The grunt from pain at the end of the statement probably helped a lot with convincing his dad.

"Oh, well I will see you tomorrow then," he paused, "I will probably going in early to work."

"Okay, _night _Dad," a clear dismissal.

Stiles huffed, "Get out, gotta get out." He turned to his open window and let the red haze take hold, leading him to the woods.

He ran fast, faster than he had ever been capable, letting the trees claw in around him, urging him on. His feet flying silently across the brush, he had left his shoes back at home, along with most of his clothes. Like his shirt, and socks, and underwear, leaving him with a pair of flimsy pajama pants.

He reached the edge of the cliff that overlooked Beacon Hills, breathing deeply.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Derek stood idly at the edge of the party, hopping that he didn't have to drag that Stiles kid away to keep him under control. He sniffed once more, and finally caught hold of his scent. He glanced in the direction it came from, grimacing as he caught site of the kid, Scott, who always hung around Stiles, grinding up against the Argent girl.

He moved swiftly towards the pair, deftly avoiding bodies that were dancing around him.

"Where is Stiles?" Derek asked once he was close enough.

Scott froze, turning to stare at him. "He didn't come tonight, he wasn't feeling well."

Derek cocked his head and glared, "Do you know why he wasn't feeling well."

Scott looked away, shame drifting off him in wafts, "He had a theory."

"Hmm . . ." Derek turned, he had to find Stiles.

"Who was that?" he heard Allison whisper.

"Nobody to worry about," Scott offered as they began to dance again.

Derek cringed, dulling his hearing and heading in the direction of the Stilinski household. He pulled up and snarled, already aware that Stiles wasn't here. He had to find him before the hunters did.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles cried out as an arrow hit his thigh while looking out at the city. He screamed, cringing as I turned into a growl, and surprised how unfazed he was besides his initial reaction. He heard the rustling back behind him, aware of the movement. He hunched over and broke the shaft, acting purely on instinct as he pulled it out. He could feel his skin knitting together. He turned to face a man that was in his mid-thirties, his eyes ice, flanked by two other men with less standing.

Stiles zoned onto the men, growling, and spittle flying from his mouth.

"Look gentlemen, we have a beta with red rimmed eyes," the cold eyed man said. Stiles flinch, unsure of why he had that reaction, "Haven't seen one of those in generations. Bring him."

The men were about to step forward as another beast flew out of the woods, disposing of them instantly. The man turned to combat the creature when it disappeared; he looked back at the other werewolf at the edge and cursed. Stiles was gone.

Stiles followed behind the wolf that had saved him, eyeing his back. They stopped once they were a few mile away from the scene.

Stiles leaned over, breathing hard. "Who were they?"

"Those were hunters," Derek answered behind him.

"Explains a lot," Stiles mumbled to himself.

"What were you doing," Derek's voice was harsh.

"Trying not to kill my dad, I separated myself from civilization." Stiles said, feeling stupid.

Derek observed him for a moment, then handing him a red hoodie—his red hoodie.

"That was on my bed," Stiles informed him.

"I had to hunt for you." Derek supplied.

Stiles took his red hoodie and slipped it on. Taking a moment to analyze how calm he really was and asked, "Were you the one that bit me?"

"No," Derek spoke voice harsh, glare prominent.

Stiles watched Derek turn and walk away.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles walked along the grave sites heading away from his mother, as a car pulled up to the curve. Stiles only needed to glance at it to know it was Scott in his Mom's car.

He finally let himself relax, leaning into the vehicle as he opened the door. They drove in silence for a few minutes, Scott gradually trying to get some courage to talk to him; Stiles could smell it permeating the air.

Stiles took pity on him, "How was the date last night?"

Scott breathed a sigh, "It was amazing, Allison was amazing," his eyebrows scrunching together, "Though Derek found me last night."

Stiles turned abruptly towards him, "Why," he demanded.

"He was looking for you," Scott shrugged.

"Let me guess, did he go all grr grr demanding," Stiles offered.

"Pretty much," Scott agreed.

"I have this feeling that he has this big bad wolf complex, and either I am a pig, or little red riding hood; though I don't like the implications of the last."

"Huh," Scott scrunched his forehead together, clueless.

"Nothing, just drive," Stiles looked out the window, not wanting to talk anymore.

"We will be okay Stiles," Stiles looked over at him as he clapped him on the shoulder. Stiles shrugged his shoulder off, unsure if it was true. Just wanting to get home and get clothes.

He got to school early enough for Stiles to get to the locker room to get ready for morning practice, Scott hanging back to see Allison, and put his bike on the rack.


	2. Over and Over, Again and Once More

**Title: Instead**

**Chapter: (2) Over and Over, Again and Once More**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, or any quoted dialogue from the show.**

**Spoiler: Ep 2 – Second Chance At First Line**

Stiles pulled off his shirt, replacing it with his practice uniform, glad that not many other players were there yet. The noise would probably insight an episode that he wasn't entirely ready for. He hummed to himself as he lay down on the bench waiting for either Scott, as usual, or Danny, who had taken to practicing with Stiles in warm ups. He wasn't sure why, and was positive Danny didn't like him all that much.

"Stiles," he looked up as Scott barreled over to him. "Remind me what you said that hunter that shot you looked like," he asked in a hushed whisper.

"Taller than me, cold grey eyes, grey hair, strikingly handsome in an evil-I'm-gonna-kill-you way," Stiles shrugged.

"Is this him?" Scott held up his phone showing a picture he had taken.

Stiles took the phone from where he lay and bolted up into a sitting position, "Where did you get this?"

"Just now, I looked at him dude and he seemed familiar. I had to think about why for a second, so I took this pic, than remembered you describing him."

"Do you know who he is?" Stiles asked.

"Uh yeah," Scott scratched the back of his head, "Allison's father."

Stiles waited for a beat, than yelled, "_Your_ girlfriend's father is trying to _kill_ me?" He hushed for a second looking around, relieved that the locker room was empty. "Her father shot me Scott, in the _thigh. _What is it with people, creatures, and things wanting to obliterate my leg? Is it really that offensive?" Stiles was more than a little hysterical. He growled and slammed his locker shut, leaving a little dent in the door. "Fucking Lord, Jesus!"

Scott watched him warily, "Come on we need to get out on the field," not acknowledging the situation. Stiles had a feeling that this would be a reoccurrence. He walked away.

Danny was waiting for him as he exited the locker room alone, "Are you going to show coach what you're capable of?"

"Danny, seriously not a good time," Stiles gave him a look.

"Whatever," they turned and walked out together.

Morning laps were a bitch, Stiles decided, as he ran alongside Danny, Scott a few laps behind them. He finished earlier then he had in previous years, up front with Danny, Jackson, and a few more miscellaneous players that happened to run track as well. He had not bothered tempering his speed to Scott, his best friend still freaked from his tantrum this morning. He must have done that thing with his eyes.

"You coming Stiles," Danny was waiting for he caught his breath, leaned over thinking.

Stiles looked up at him, considering. Danny had been nicer to him. _Why? _Stiles nodded at him and moved to follow, looking back at Scott who was hanging around Isaac. He had been doing that a lot lately. Even before the whole wolf thing popped up into his life, Scott was going off on his own, with someone else. He had been practicing Lacrosse with someone else; that was for sure. He couldn't have gotten that good without outside help from Stiles' horrible previous attempts before turning. He shook his head and looked forward, noticing Jackson looking back at Scott as well, fury lighting his features. Danny clapped them on the back, steering them toward the locker room.

"Since when are you being nice to me?" Stiles asked before shutting his mouth.

Danny surveyed him as Jackson answered, "McCall is a tool, we noticed, even though Allison and Lydia hadn't. We also noticed you're not as much of a tool."

Stiles wasn't sure how to respond to that.

School was monotonous after that; Stiles going to class, Scott avoiding him, Stiles simmering.

It wasn't until afternoon practice that Stiles bitterness took hold, though not nessesarily at the _right _person. Or maybe it was, who knows?

Coach had Scott charging at Jackson when he was put down, hard.

"McCall, what's up with that? Are your feet not working? My grandmother can move faster then that," the coach got up real close, "Are you saying you can't move faster than my dead decaying grandmother?"

"No coach," Scott said, voice filled with anger.

The coach waved at him, "Then do it again."

"Yes coach," Scott got back into position and charged. He was put down again. Jackson had a smug smile on his face.

The coach sighed. "Stilinski you're up."

Stiles took a deep breath, and looked over at Jackson, Danny behind him in the goal. Stiles charged.

He his Jackson, not with full force, causing him to be pushed back, his cleats dragging. Jackson held, looking into Stiles' eyes, fear flashing for a second.

"My best friend may be a tool, but he is mine. I will handle him," with that he barreled through, all his force exerted. Jackson fell back.

"Stilinski," the coach called.

Stiles looked up, mildly annoyed, "Yes coach?"

The coach waved his hands, "Show that to me again."

Stiles huffed, "Yes coach." He went back into position.

Stiles surveyed Jackson; the idiot wasn't going to let it drop. Stiles smiled, eyes lighting up as he charged. Jackson flew back as he was hit, clutching his shoulder, the tackle making Stiles lose focus as well as lose control. He fell to his knees.

Scott was beside him in an instant, "Stiles, man, come on."

Stiles looked up, "Get me out of here."

Scott nodded vigorously, hauling him up and towards the locker room. As they reached the door Stiles stumbled, he growled, hunching over.

"Stiles, what am I supposed to do? What's going on?" Scott was panicked.

"Leave," Stiles growled flashing his eyes at Scott, his claws extending. "Scott," his voice was urgent, hard, and pained. He tried to hold it back, the red, and the beast at the edge of his consciousness.

Scott froze and it was too late, Stiles zeroed in on him and lunged. Scott unfroze at exactly the right moment and scrambled back, hitting the wall. Stiles was upon him again, and Scott took off for the showers. He was cornered and crouched down as Stiles prowled forward. Stiles was about to strike when Scott reached up, turning the shower heard on, ice cold water hitting Stiles hard.

Stiles screamed and backed away, the shock running through his system. He spasmed and stared at a cowering Scott, "Oh God, Scott I am so sorry, man."

Scott lifted himself into a standing position. "Stiles, dude, I don't know what to do. You scare the hell outta me, and you shouldn't. I shouldn't feel like this."

Stiles sighed, "Man I don't know. I don't even know what is going on with me. It's like only a part of me is heightened."

Scott's puppy look appeared, "Explain Stiles."

"Sc-ott," Stiles' voice broke, "I just don't know man. It's like the parts of me, the part that I don't ever let out, are fighting to be seen."

"You secretly want to kill me?" Scott asked incredulously.

"What," Stiles sat on a bench, "No man, like my problems with my dad. Problems I hadn't even realized were there. Or how Jackson is a total ass to you. Or how you have been avoiding me back before me becoming whatever I am."

Scott sat down next to him, and leaned into him. They were silent.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles reached for his phone on his bed, dialing Danny's number.

"Hello," Danny answered, distracted.

"Hey Danny, it's Stiles," Stiles could feel the glare Danny was sending him through the phone.

"What do you need Stiles?" Danny's voice was harsh.

"I just wanted to know how Jackson was; I didn't mean to hurt him."

"Stiles," Danny had little patience for him.

"I'm sorry; this is part of the issues that I was talking about. He attacked Scott, and even if I am not happy with Scott right now, he is still my best friend. You can't honestly say that if Scott was being a douche to Jackson in front of you, you wouldn't have done the same. Admittedly I went overboard, that is part of what I told you that I was dealing with." Stiles added.

Danny quieted for a beat, then spoke, "Yeah okay, I get it."

"So how is Jackson doing," Stiles prodded.

"He's going to be fine, just his shoulders separated."

"Will he be playing in the game?" Stiles asked.

"I don't know man, maybe," Danny offered.

"Alright, I'll see you at school," Stiles took his phone down from his ear, and hung up as he flung himself onto the bed . . . only to be hauled up by the back of his shirt. A growl broke through onto his visage as he heard a soft growl emit from the person behind him. He froze for only a second, and took a deep breath. It was no use to go into this with no control. Control he didn't have yet, but he sure as hell would try. His nostrils flared as he took in the scents around him, the most prominent being cedar, musk, and a hint of underlying white pepper, along with rage, he snapped away, and crotched.

"Derek," Stiles' eyes narrowed.

"You shifted today, you could have ruined everything. I saw you today Stiles, what are you going to do if they find out. It will turn into a witch hunt, most likely your father at the front." Derek raged. "I can't help you if that happens," Stiles went slack as Derek picked him up again and slammed him mercilessly against the wall. "Do not dare play in that game, I will come for you and I will ripe out your throat, with my teeth." He slammed him back against the wall harder this time, "Understood?"

Derek didn't wait for an answer, just turned and left through the window, disappearing into the night. Stiles slowly got to his feet, where he had sagged to the floor. "Oh God!" he waited for a beat, "I say that a lot don't I?" he shook his head to clear it and picked up his phone dialing Scott. "Hey, I need to get Derek in jail for killing the dead body."

"What?" Scott asked drowsily.

"I _need_ to get _Derek_ in jail for killing that dead body before the game." Stiles said a hiss prevalent in his tone.

"I thought you said earlier that you didn't think Derek was the killer," _No shit Sherlock, _Stiles thought.

"I need him out of the way so that I can play in the game if needed. Danny may have threatened me to play, and I think Lydia is in on it. So to sum it up: Stiles not play; Stiles not live to see another day."

There was a chuckle on the other side of the line, "At least she is taking notice of you now, right?"

"Scott," Stiles whined, "Come on man."

"Alright, alright dude we will figure something out," Scott assures him before hanging up.

Stiles fell back onto his bed, and crawled under the covers, closing his eyes to sleep.

The next morning Stiles was pulled into the coach's office. Coach Finstock turned to him as he sat on the edge of his desk. "Stilinski, what happened yesterday?" Stiles shrugged. "You just went berserk on Jackson. I-I mean where did you get that power or even the initiative to stand up like that. Where have you been hiding Stilinski?"

Stiles shrugged again, "I just never put my full ability into playing before. He was being a jerk to Scott."

The coach's mouth fell open, "Seriously, that's what it took. For McCall to make the team, then get his ass handed to him." The coach turned away from, "Damn."

"It's whatever coach," Stiles turned to leave.

"I want you to play Stilinski, first line; I want you to back Scott up." Finstock turned and leveled him with a look.

"I'll play coach, but only if necessary, only bring me in if it is really needed. I have some issues that I am working on."

"What kind of issues?" Finstock gave an exaggerated hand gesture, "Are you having family trouble?" the coach gazed at him, "Are you having girl troubles—boy troubles? Is it anger issues?" Stiles didn't respond. "Is it D all of the above?" Stiles pulled back a little. "That's a lot of issues to be rolled up," he made a circle with one finger in Stiles direction, "In one package."

Stiles sighed, "Yeah."

"Alright, I'll only put you in if needed," Finstock gave a nod, dismissing him.

Stiles let go of the breath he was holding.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Scott walked through the hallway turning the corner to go up the stairs when he came face to face with Allison. He had been a bit leery around her, considering her family wanted to kill his best friend, his brother. She smiled at him, and he melted. He sincerely hoped she wasn't in on the 'Family Business', he had no idea who he would choose given an ultimatum, even after only knowing her for a few days.

"Scott, hey," she winked at him.

He melted again, "Hey," and his voice dropped. He was a dead man, forever destined to be her undead slave of love. Stiles would have laughed his ass off if he saw.

"So," she flipped her hair behind her shoulder, "I was going to come watch the game." He nodded, stupidly happy to have her attention. "And Lydia and I were planning like a get together after the game maybe, with you and Jackson."

"Yeah," excitement vanishing at the mention of the jackass.

"You should bring Stiles, Lydia was going to have Jackson bring Danny," she winked at him, walking away. What was that wink about, it wasn't for him, it was in the message she gave him. Thinking back: bring Stiles—Jackson will bring Danny, oh, _oh_. Scott snickered. _Stiles is gonna love this. _Scott guffawed in the middle of the hallway, already up the stairs and on the way to math.

Scott sat down in his desk, pulling out his almost done homework and cringed. What was done, probably wasn't done properly, he needed to ask Stiles to tutor him again. He looked over to where Lydia was sitting, gossiping with another Lacrosse player's girlfriend, probably about who was getting to play, when the teacher walked in.

"Alright class, I have decided to give you a break today." The class cheered. "I will be writing math problems on the board and if by chance you get it correct, and depending on how well you know the steps, you won't have to turn in your homework, and will get an A. If you don't know the procedure and steps then you will turn in your homework," he paused for effect, "and hope that you make a better grade then the F you would have gotten in _not_ knowing this section. Those who do well in this have the opportunity to turn their homework in for extra credit." He clapped unenthusiastically, "Yeah over-achievers."

Some of the students groaned, some sputtered, and a few shouted out in happiness. More than a few decided to flip open their books and review in the few short moments allowed to them.

He looked down at his clipboard, "Now let's try for some random selection, Lydia Martin and uh . . . Scott McCall." _Random my ass, he picked the best and the worst student first off._

Scott made his way slowly up to the board, Lydia already up there smirking back at him. They began the problems that the teacher had already written on the board.

He looked up at the problem:

**Solve **_**3x^**__**2**__** + x - 2 = 0**_** for **_**x.**_

_Shit, what was it that Stiles told me about Quadratic Equations in Algebra I? Uh . . . right, factoring. How do I factor again? Come on Scott you can do this. _Scott thought to himself.

"I heard Stiles wasn't going to play in the game," Lydia offered from her side of the board, looking over at him.

Scott's brain froze for a second, unable to concentrate at the same time. "Yeah, he is gonna try not to play, only if needed according to coach. Like a secret weapon." Scott tried to make it sound good, so that Lydia would leave him alone.

"_Right?"_ she turned back to her problem, working it smoothly. "And why is that? If he is good, shouldn't he be coming out with first line?"

Scott tried to think back to the excuse that Stiles gave him to give the rest of the team while writing out:

_**(3x - 2)(x + 1) = 0**_

He crossed it out. _No that isn't right._ He scrunched his eyebrows together in a scowl, and tried again.

_**(3x + 2)(x - 1) = 0**_

_Maybe this . . . Wait no, I think I had it before? _He wrote his factoring out one more time.

_**(3x - 2)(x + 1) = 0**_

_Now what was it that Stiles said? Oh right. _"Stiles only really works good under pressure situations, he uh," he thought back, "He can't like concentrate unless there is something to force his focus."

She turned back to her problem, "Hem," she made the noise in the back of her throat as he worked on the next step, taking her time he was sure. "Jackson _will _be playing tomorrow, but he won't be at his peak. You will get Stiles out there on that field, we will not lose. I am dating the captain of the Lacrosse team Scott; I will not date the captain of the losing Lacrosse team." She finished, clapping her hands together, "Or I will introduce Allison to everyone else on the team." He could tell her threat was steady, and that she would follow through.

She turned and pranced back to her seat as he turned back to his problem.

"Mr. McCall you're not even close to solving your problem," the teacher called.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. _Okay so I factored, next step . . ._

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles hustled down the hallway to his next class when the five minute warning bell rung and his hearing decided to act up. He winced, the bell leaving a dull ring in his head. He began to try and calm the episode when he picked up on his Dad's voice muffled. Steeling himself, he tip-toed up to the corner and peaked around, spotting his dad standing there with another deputy and the vice principal; they were whispering.

He concentrated for a moment until his father's voice became clearer, "We are instituting a curfew, effective immediately. I want everyone under the age of 18 without parental supervision home by 9:30."

Stiles pulled away, "Crap."

"What is it?" Scott looked down the hall towards the sheriff, "Did you hear what they said?"

"Yeah, they are instituting a curfew until the killer is found." Stiles jerked his arms up into the air, "Which means . . ." he stopped for a second letting out a sound of revulsion.

"Which means what?" Scott pushed.

"That we may not have as much time as needed to actually figure this out," Stiles said walking away.

"Where are you going?" Scott called after.

"To find a dead body and frame Derek."

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles pulled his jeep up to the Hale house and got out. "Derek," he called, "Dude I know you're here, I can smell you."

Stiles ran his hand through his hair and turned around in a circle looking around, "Holy-" Stiles shouted as he caught sight of Derek standing soundless on the porch, appearing out of nowhere. Stiles jumped back, "Don't do that!"

"What," Derek snapped clearly unrepentant.

"Stay away from Scott; I know you approached him at the party."

"Oh yeah," Derek begins to prowl closer to him.

"Leave him alone," Stiles reiterated.

"Sure, sure," Derek's gaze took him in. "You're struggling aren't you?"

"You know, that's funny, that's exactly what my teacher used to tell me," Stiles tried to put on an easy smile.

"You think this is a game?" Derek was fierce in his posture as he stopped a few feet away. "This isn't a game Stiles. You can't just Google werewolves and get all the answers." Derek took a deliberate step towards him, his scent drifting of him in waves. Stiles quickly realized he could become intoxicated with that smell, and took a step back. "I'm only looking out for you."

"Yeah sure," Stiles scrutinized him, "You, and my dad, and Scott, even Danny now-days are all looking out for me."

"It's true," Derek's voice gained momentum, as if that would convince Stiles, "At least on my part. You need to learn control."

Stiles turned, heading back for his jeep, "I will, but not from you."

When he was a few miles away he smirked, "Some people are just stupid," he muttered flaring his nostrils, turning into a neighborhood, heading to Scott's.

Stiles let himself in, excited, and ran up the stairs. He flung Scott's door open and let his energy surge out, "You will never guess," he began his voice filled with jitters, "I found something at Derek's, I smelt blood, I totally interrogated him while my nose did all the work, he was clueless. It was awesome—no wait—it was terrible, yeah terrible is the right word."

"Stiles," Scott whined, "When was the last time you had your Adderall?"

"It doesn't work, it's part of my newly instigated list of issues that I have to deal with. I totally wrote a paper today on the entire history of the male circumcision in economics today." He took a raised his hand to his chin, "Though it was a good read, I think Coach Finstock will enjoy it immensely."

"Stiles," Scott prodded.

"Oh right, yeah there was blood at Derek's. We have a covert mission to accomplish tonight," Stiles began to walk out the door, "You in or out?"

"I don't know Stiles," Scott got up off his bed.

"The last time you made me do something on my own, I got left to be bitten by a werewolf, thus turning into a werewolf, which while admittedly sounding cool, isn't really. Or at least not till I have a handle on it, and Scott my ADHD meds aren't working. This is causing major problems for me." Stiles argued.

Scott frowned then nodded, following his friend out to the car.

Beacon Hills Hospital was busier than usual, which made Scott sigh in relief. His mom would be too busy running around to notice him. They walked in, looking around, "Where is the morgue?" Scott asked.

Stiles nodded his head to the left, "That way."

"How do you know," Scott asked, "I don't see any signs."

"It smells like death," Stiles grimaced, "Now shhh, and go wait over there." Stiles pointed to the seats over by the nurses' station.

"Wait, no man, I thought we were in this together," Scott protested.

"Do you want to get caught hanging around the morgue and banned from the hospital? Cause if that happens; your mom is going to blow a gasket." Stiles offered.

Scott huffed, "Whatever," slumping over to the seats, looking like a kicked puppy.

Stiles took off in the direction his nose was leading him, further inclined when he actually did see a sign indicating the morgue was ahead.

He let out a breath as a male nurse passed him, not paying him any mind, or not caring enough even though he was sure he looked suspicious. He slipped in through the titanium door, cringing as his nose was assaulted with formaldehyde and pungent with death. He began to get dizzy. Why could he turn off all his other senses or at least normalize them, but not his sense of smell?

He moved over to the wall filled with doors and pulled open the one that smelled most like the blood he had smelt in the woods by the burnt husk of a house. He pulled it out only two inched to gaze at the tag. _**Jane Doe **_clearly written in a neat scroll and he sniffed. Yes, it matched exactly. Stiles closed the door and headed back to Scott.

Scott was sitting low in his seat when Stiles arrived, a magazine turned upside down and opened to block his face. Stiles grabbed it and flung it onto the seat next to him. He looked around as Scott scrambled up and saw Lydia hanging all over Jackson.

She was cover in a fragrance that he could identify as Pink Chiffon, from that Body Works store with her natural scent flaring to life underneath. She smelled lightly of citrus such as mandarins and oranges, with a heavier note of sandalwood, and an overwhelming fragrance of lily of the valley and gardenias. He scrunched his nose, this was putting him off, and he didn't want to be off of Lydia. She was perfect in a sneaky, evil, eat you alive type-of-way. She also smelled of arousal and something else, something sickly in its sweetness.

Jackson's scent wasn't helping either, as he was giving off that sickly sweet scent the very same that Scott and Allison were beginning to get around one another. Though his smell was more of a stench lining Stiles' nose, making him want to gag.

He looked down and away from the couple, catching a glimpse of the pamphlet on the end table. 'The Menstrual Cycle' - _I could use that for my next heath class paper . . . Or my next Economics paper . . . Oh the possibilities._ He cackled internally.

"Stiles, what did you find," Scott interrupted as he grabbed the pamphlet, he would read it later.

"The scent was the same," Stiles said.

"So we have proof then, at least enough to get him in jail for a while," Scott nodded thinking.

"Yeah, I say we go dig it up," Stiles grinned as he tucked the pamphlet into his back pocket, walking out of the hospital.

"Do I want to know," Scott gestured at the pamphlet Stiles had stashed.

"Probably not," Stiles licked his lips.

"Okay," Scott took it easily, grinning. He was happy the old Stiles was shining through.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles watched his dad put Derek Hale in the back of the police car and close the door before walking away. He knelt down as his dad began to walk over to the scene of the crime and made his way to the police vehicle. He slipped into it, hopping he wasn't noticed.

Derek was glaring at him, "Hey sourwolf, how are things." Stiles was entirely too smug.

"Stiles," Derek snapped.

Stiles made a shushing noise. "Just to let you know this isn't permanent, I plan to uncover evidence that clears you in a few days unless the police have already done so."

"What?" Derek whispered urgently.

Stiles shrugged, "I needed you out of the way."

"What are you going to do when you change on the field?" Derek got closer to the mesh, "When you lose control?"

Stiles let stony feature overtake his face, "I better not let that happen then."

Stiles only had the brief warning of a brief trickle of his dad's aftershave when he was tugged unceremoniously out of the car.

"Stiles what do you think you are doing?" the sheriff demanded.

"Interrogating the suspect," Stiles didn't let his straight face fall as he answered.

His dad brought his hand up to rub his eyes as he asked, "And how was it you and Scott stumbled across this again?"

"We were looking for my flashlight, I dropped it the other night when-" Stiles was cut off.

"The other night when a dead body was reported, and a man hunt was going on? That other night? Do you listen in on all my calls?"

Stiles licked his lips, "No," he bowed his head, "Only the good ones."

"Was this also the other night you told me you were home all night?" the sherrif asked.

"Technically I was; I just wasn't home in the wee hours of the morning . . ." Stiles held his fingers barely apart for emphasis.

"Technically you lied to me," the sheriff argued.

"That depends on your definition with the word lying?"

"I define it as not telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but," the sheriff shot back, "What do you define it as?"

"I—uh—reclining in a vertical position," dread filling his features as his dad gave him 'The Look'.

"Go to school," the sheriff pointed at his jeep where Scott was hanging about, cringing at the scene between father and son.

"Aye, aye," Stiles rushed off, feeling the need to get as far away as possible, as soon as possible.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles cringed as Jackson made sure he didn't get the ball again. He stood and approached the coach, "Coach I think I'm ready to go in."

The coach appraised him with a lifted eyebrow before gesturing for a player change.

"Stan is that Stiles going out onto the field?" Melissa asked the Sheriff.

"Why is my kid going out on to the field?" he asked, eyebrows scrunched together as he puzzled it out. His features morphed into pride, "That's my kid going out onto the field. Go Stiles!"

It was time to get down to business. He gets into position and hunches over, just in case his eyes were glowing. The ref approached Coach Finstock, "Is he okay?"

Coach shrugged, "Hell if I know, blow your damn whistle."

The ref shook his head and blew on the silver whistle in his hand. The ball flew, and Stiles' head jerked up. He jumped his foot landing on a teammates shoulder as he pushed off of his hunched back. He caught the ball mid-leap and landed couched on both of his feet before taking off. He twirled dodging the first player, shouldering past the second, and was just to fast for the third. He approached the goal fast and hard, tightening his grip, and shot.

"Goal!" Coach Finstock shouted and the whistle blew.

Stiles ran back to his position, hunching over again.

"Yes, go Stiles!" Ms. McCall chanted, his dad shouting, "Whoo!" at the same time.

Stiles shook off the noise as the whistle blew. The opposite team got the ball right off and Stiles stood in front of him when the guy passed him the ball and ran the other way. Stiles took the ball getting past a few players before passing it to Scott at the last moment. Scott Scored.

Stiles would have cheered if it weren't for the fact he was sure he would have growled instead.

Stiles looked up at the clock as he got into position. They had enough time for one more play, better make it a good one.

The whistle blew for the last time and Stiles charged the ball, flipping it up into his net looking around. He was surrounded. He passed it off to Danny, who surprisingly wasn't playing goal for this game, making his way out of the crowd. Danny flicked it back to him and he caught it, aware that Scott was at his back. He charged toward the goal and clashed hard with the player in his way, but not before passing the ball back to Scott. The sound the crowd made as Scott scored was deafening to his ears as he pushed hard against number 27, his grip on his stick tightening so much he could hear the crack.

He backed off and was breathing hard, reigning in his emotions. He sow Scott run off the field and could hear his labored breath. He was having an asthma attack, and probably forgot his enhaler. He threw his lacrosse stick down and it splintered before shattering.

"Stiles," he heard his dad over the crowd, and saw him waving.

Stiles grinned at him, "Did you see?"

"You were great Stiles," the sheriff looked down at his equipment, "What happened."

"I think that last hit took it to its limit," Stiles couldn't drop his grin.

"Well we will have to get you another one, a better one," the sheriff grinned back at him.

"Really," Stiles was almost giddy. He had reigned in his emotions and stayed in control, _and _won the game. _Suck that Derek. _"That would be awesome."

The sheriff was about to say something as his phone rang. "Give me a sec, and then we can go get celebratory burgers."

"Yeah sure," Stiles followed after his dad to the parking lot, not bothering to go back to the locker room to change.

His dad answered the phone, "Sheriff Stilinski speaking."

Stiles enhanced his hearing to get what was going on. "Chief we have just got confirmation on the autopsy."

"And?"

"Jane Doe was killed by an animal, a wolf to be exact, fur was found and identified."

"So Derek Hale?"

"We have no grounds to keep him," the person on the other line spoke.

"Fine, but we will do regular checkups on him, something is fishy about his circumstances," the Sheriff ordered. "Did we get identification for the Jane Doe?"

"Yes sir, both halves, her name is Laura Hale."

His dad was quiet for a minute before answering, "We will talk more about this in the meeting tomorrow morning, I have dinner to get to with my son."

"Yes sir," the person said as his dad hung up.

The sheriff sighed and got into his patrol car, Stiles right behind him with his gear. "What, no twenty questions?" the sheriff asked.

"I figured you would tell me if it was something I could know," Stiles shrugged. His dad raised an eyebrow, "It's called growing up Dad." They drove off.

Jackson watched as Stiles left the field with his dad, along with everyone else. He walked over to were Stiles left his Lacrosse stick, picking up the shattered staff. He looked up to see a dark figure shadowed by the stadium lights and looked back down at the equipment. He noticed that a portion looked gouged out by nails and looked back up to see the figure gone.

**AN: Hey there folks, I hope you enjoyed the second installment of Instead, a Stiles is a werewolf story. . . Let me know what you think. Each chapter will be playing off the information given out of each episode and be given episode by episode. Though I think eventually as the stories play out the scenes will start to diverge from the original. **

**This is Sterek, though with hints of Danny/Stiles—hints I say, HINTS! Well unless Stiles thinks differently . . . and we all know how Stiles thinks. His brain is filled with landmines, and bombs, and most likely nuclear deterrents *shiver*. You all know what I am talking about, don't say you don't. **

**I am sorry for how bitter Stiles has been acting; I don't know what his problem is. I just know it's that bitterness that we say at the end of season two come early, and hopefully dealt with—on his part—early. **

**Stay tuned for how this will turn out, 'cause even I don't know . . . **

**Love Always, **

**Snake Eyes**


	3. Hanging Out?

**Title: Instead**

**Chapter: (3) Hanging Out?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, or any quoted dialogue from the show.**

**Spoiler: Ep 3 – Pack Mentality**

Stiles hustled out of the school, his dad said he was waiting for him and it was getting a little too late. Shaking his head he rushed through the door, wondering what this was about. He smiled when he saw his dad standing beside the buses.

"Dad," he called jerking his head up in greeting.

The sheriff waved him over before stepping onto the bus. Stiles didn't relax, something was off. He jogged over to the bus and peaked his head inside; his dad was in the middle of the bus, hands gripping the seats harshly on either side.

"How do you like it?" he asked Stiles, as he approached him.

"Like what exactly?" Stiles froze, "Wait, are you taking away my jeep, because you can't, I paid for it remember?"

"No," his dad sounded disgruntled, "That is not what this is about."

Stiles cocked his head to the side and licked his lips, "Hint please."

"How do you like my new job?" the sheriff asked.

Stiles was shocked, "What?" he hissed.

"I was fired today," the sheriff informed him. Stiles looked at him and finally realized exactly what was missing. His dad was still wearing his old uniform, but the badge and gun holster were missing.

"Why," Stiles looked down at his feet afraid of the answer.

"You know why," the sheriff gave him the look as Stiles glanced up; the look that construed exactly how disappointed in Stiles he was, the look that said 'why did I ever keep you', the look that told him 'you are going to be the death of me, just like you killed your mother' flickered across his face. Stiles cringed and his heart felt like it was in his ears and the world around him began to buzz, sucking out all other life.

He turned clutching his chest, as he felt his nails begin to extend along with his canines. Hunching in on himself he keened. This couldn't be happening.

"You will turn around and face me like a man," his dad grabbed his shoulder, "Now Stiles."

"Let go of me," Stiles roared, his vision reddening. He turned in an instant and his dad immediately backed away, a look of horror taking hold of his features.

"What are you?" his dad asked in disgust.

Stiles growled and Stan turned away and ran for the emergency exit. Stiles leaped over the seats, shredding them in his wake as he got in front of his father. His father froze before stumbling backwards, his back hitting the aisle. Stiles was on him, his claws extended as he swiped at his dad's face.

Stan struggled underneath him before getting a leg up to his chest and kicking. Stiles flew back, hitting hard against the ceiling as Stan scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. It was closed, and jammed as he tried to jimmy it, breathing hard. Stiles grabbed him at the ankles and drug him back into the bus. Blood flew everywhere and Stan screamed.

Stiles jerked awake, breathing hard.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

"You killed your dad in your dream, dude that's more than a little morbid," Scott said as they walked into the school.

"You don't have to tell me that. I am well aware of exactly how morbid it is." Stiles gestured wildly.

"What do you think it means?" Scott asked.

"I don't know man," Stiles pushed away from him, speeding up, "That I am going to kill my dad?"

"Again with the morbid," Scott nodded, "Maybe it's like you're gonna ripe your dad's throat out after causing him to lose his job?" Scott hefted up his bag as he turned to see Stiles' bland expression, "I said maybe."

"No dude," Stiles exploded, everyone in the hall turning to them. He cleared his throat, "Just no, I am not even gonna think about that."

"Maybe you just need to learn how to control it. I mean you did control it last time," Scott left out the part where he was almost killed.

"After you sprayed me with ice cold water," Stiles muttered bitterly, "This isn't so simply Scott. It's not like I can go to the local college and sign up for a Lycanthropy beginner's class."

"You could ask Derek," Scott urged.

"Oh right, let's ask the man we had falsely accused and sent to jail, to help me." Stiles was exasperated, he didn't know what to do. Muttering under his breath so Scott couldn't hear him, "And I hate how he makes me feel."

"Just a suggestion dude," Scott shrugged as they pushed through the doors to go outside.

Stiles froze as he took in the scene. The door at the back of the bus was torn open, blood covering the seats and windows.

"Uh, Stiles," Stiles turned to Scott his eyes wide; "I think it really happened."

Stiles whipped around and took in the scene, and the cops he could see. He rushed forward, and grabbed one of his dad's deputy's arms, "Have you seen my dad?" When she didn't respond right away, he turned and grabbed the arm of a man that looked like his dad turning him roughly, and letting go as realized it wasn't his dad. "Dad, Dad!" He searched franticly, his heart speeding up, "Scott, where's my dad?" he yelled.

"He isn't picking up his phone Stiles," Scott called to him.

"Dad!" Stiles yelled again.

"Stiles," Scott called pointing at the edge of the parking lot.

Stiles zoomed in on where Scott was pointing and his breath caught as he felt his body relax. His dad stood there talking to reporters, hands on hips. As he pulled away from the crowd the deputy Stiles had first asked flagged him and pointed at Stiles in an exaggerated manor. The Sheriff turned to give Stiles a look that said, _stop fucking around and get to class._ Stiles felt his chest constrict for a different reason.

Huffing he gathered Scott and headed to class, "Alright man lets go."

"You sure you don't want to talk to him," Scott asked.

"Yeah, just needed to see that he wasn't hurt," Stiles pushed Scott at the door, "Or dead," he mumbled under his breath.

"Again with the morbid dude," Scott shook his head and went in search of Allison.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles dropped down in the seat behind Scott, as Mr. Harris drew something up on the board. "Maybe it was animal blood, maybe I ate a rabbit or something," Stiles said.

Scott turned to him in disgust, "Raw?"

"I don't know, I don't remember," Stiles shrugged.

"Mr. Stilinski, Mr. McCall, that is not a hushed whisper, so do me the pleasure of separating from one another," Stiles opened his mouth to argue, "Mr. Stilinski I know your relationship with Mr. McCall is special, but I am sure the separation anxiety will pass if by chance you become more accustomed to _separation."_ Mr. Harris let his face fall into a grim smile, "Let's start now."

"No," Stiles whimpered, as Scott sighed. The picked up their bags and went to opposite sides of the room, Scott went to the table in front of Jackson, and Stiles beside Danny.

Stiles huffed, as the girl beside Scott jumped of her seat, "Look, I think they found something!"

Stiles surged forward to see a man pulled by a stretcher and flinched as he noticed the blood. When the man jerked up, he jerked back, startled with his eyes widening.

"Oh god," his hand flew to his mouth as bile rose up his throat and he rushed out of the room, Scott and Mr. Harris shouting at him as he went.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

"Why would you ever think that Derek has all the answers, or any answers at all?" Stiles asked Scott as they sat at their usual table in the cafeteria.

"He was in control on the full moon, more control then you were." Scott answered.

Stiles shook his head, "Just no Scott, no."

Scott leaned forward about to ask something else when a lunch trey was place beside him, he looked up to see Lydia's strawberry-blonde lock being flipped over her shoulder as she sat.

Stiles gaps at her and looks at Scott, clearly confused. Scott mouthed, 'what is she doing here' at Stiles as Danny took up the seat beside Stiles and Jackson the seat at the helm of the table. The last to sit was Allison, who sat on Scott's other side; the rest of the Lacrosse team taking up the rest of the table.

Danny picked a fry from Stiles' plate and brought it to his mouth before saying, "Any word on what happened in the parking lot? I heard it was an animal attack, like a cougar."

Jackson huffed, "I heard mountain lion."

"Cougars and mountain lions are the same," Lydia spoke up her voice haughty, when Jackson gave her a look she cocked her hear, "Aren't they?"

Jackson looked away, "Whatever."

"I watched a video earlier, and the man who was attacked was my old bus driver." Scott offered.

Lydia stabbed her pasta salad, "Let's have a change of topic, shall we?" She turned to Allison, "What are we doing tomorrow?"

Allison dropped her fork and stared at Lydia in shock, and looked at Scott with wide eyes, "We were still thinking of what we were going to do."

"It has to be fun, so we need to figure out where we are hanging out."

Stiles watched his friends date get hijacked in mortification, when Danny tried for another fry. Stiles slapped his hand away, and Lydia's eyes became sharp.

Scott turned to Allison, "You want to hang out—as in a double date?"

Allison's eyes widened and she took a sip of her water and cleared her throat, shrugging, "Sounds like fun, right?"

Jackson was about to open his mouth when Lydia interrupted, "And we can bring our boys." She leaned across Scott, "I'll make sure Jackson brings along Danny, and we can gather up Stiles." That made Allison giggle, and Stiles coughed up his tongue that was immediately lodged in the back of his throat.

"What about bowling," Allison asked.

"Simple enough, has promise," Stiles didn't like their shared grin and looked to Danny who had directed a look of pity towards him.

"Can McCall and Stilinski even bowl?" Jackson interrupted.

Allison looked to Scott, her eyes questioning as they glistened.

"No," Stiles interrupted.

"Uh, a little," Scott offered.

"Only a little, or not at all," Jackson directed his hostility at Scott.

"Yeah, I can," Stiles could see it coming, the macho 'I he-man' moment, and cringed, "In fact I am an awesome bowler." Allison beamed at him.

"I reiterate, no. As in N-O, no," Stiles said frantically.

"Not to worry sweetie, we'll get you and Danny a separate lane so he can teach you," Lydia took Stiles hand from across the table, patting it. She turned sharply to Danny, "Right Danny?"

Danny frown but said, "Sure, whatever."

Stiles let his head droop, he was doomed.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles and Scott were walking through the hall as the last bell ended, Stiles' voice getting progressively louder. "You are a horrible bowler Scott."

"I know," Scott said, cringing.

"It was like watching a horror movie, the part where the person goes into the house alone after seeing the door open and the killer jumps out, knocks hem unconscious so he can play with her later, in the bad way." Stiles follows behind Scott as they take the stairs a story down.

"I know," Scott exclaimed.

"My day has been on the tip of the scale for worst day ever. First I attack an innocent man-" Stiles says at the same time Scott disdainfully says, "A group date then, you, I mean seriously Stiles, hanging out."

Stiles continued, "Not to mention Lydia's got something up her sleeve concerning me and Danny, and I don't think he likes me very much."

Scott ignored him, "I asked her out on a date, and now we're _hanging out_. I make first line and suddenly Jackson's out to get me."

Stiles turned to Scott, "Am I not attractive to gay guys?" worry tinted his voice.

"And now—now I'm late for work!" Scott looked down at his watch, rushing off out the door.

"What Scott? Am I not attractive to gay guys?" the door closed behind him, "You aren't answering me!" Stiles yelled at him in a huff, turning back to go to his locker, he needed his Chem book for homework tonight.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles glanced around; everyone from the school finally gone, including the cops at the crime scene. He stepped over the crime scene tape, and put some latex gloves on. Carefully he opened the bus door and stepped inside. Standing at the front of the bus he closed his eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably under his own scrutinizing as he tried to go back. He gripped the seats and looked down at the floor. A flash—his dad screaming—flash—the bus driver took his place, silent screams emitting from his mouth as he was dragged back. Stiles watched as he tried to struggle, and reached for him. He was pulled away harshly and Stiles slowly lifted his head. Stiles took a step back as glowing red eyes glared at him, searing him down to his soul. He couldn't pull his gaze away, stuck as he was, and unable to even think.

He jerked as his phone went off. Stiles took in a sharp breath and exited the bus in a hurry, heading for his jeep. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"Hello?" Stiles answered.

"Stiles?" Scott's voice was rushed.

"No shit Sherlock, what do you need?"

"I was just at the hospital, and I went to see Mr. Meyer's, dude went nuts when I entered his room. Wouldn't stop screaming," Stiles could hear the cringe in Scott's voice.

"Yeah, well I figured out that I wasn't the one to hurt him."

"Wha- how?"

"I went back to the bus, to see if I could like relive it or something, and I did. It was another werewolf." Stiles opened the door to his jeep and hopped in.

"Like Derek," Scott asked.

"No, this I don't think so. This one had red eyes and I saw Derek's eyes glow blue," Stiles said.

"So Derek good or bad?" Scott was confused.

"I am not entirely sure he is either," Stiles said, "Look man, I got to go, my dad is expecting me." He wasn't, but Scott didn't know that. They said their goodbyes and hung up. Stiles let his head fall onto the steering wheel, and his anxiety take hold for only a minute, before picking himself up again and starting the car. It was hard to concentrate, even with triple the dose of Adderall running through his system, it still wasn't having the effect he needed to function properly. Wasn't he supposed to grow out of this shit? Angrily he pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

**~0~o~O~o~0~**

Stiles rushed down the stairs as he pulled on a ratty hoodie, the door bell ringing. He tried to ignore it the first two times, not really wanting to put up with Scott's pre-date jitters.

Stiles swung the door open, "Seriously Scott," he stopped in his tracks, "You~ou," he drew out the word, "Are not Scott." Lydia stood in front of Allison hand on hip.

"Seems like someone forgot about the plans we made." Lydia looked back at Allison.

"More like blocked from my memory on purpose," Stiles mumbled, then spoke his voice maybe a little harsh, "Look Lydia I'm really not into this, and there is a curfew tonight."

"When has that ever stopped you before," Lydia asked, pushing past him, holding Allison's hand.

"Uh, never," Stiles closed the door, "But how would you know that."

"Educated guess, sheriff's son," Allison called back as the giggling girls headed up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Stiles followed after them.

"Your room, it's up here isn't it?" Lydia cocked her head as she reached his room, his door open.

It was a mess, papers strewn all over his floor, his bed mused, and his desk covered in open books and reference sheets.

Lydia raised an eyebrow and looked back at him, "Now just to find you something to wear."

Stiles grumbled and pointed to his closet and dresser, making a have at it motion.

Allison sat at the edge the bed, "Geez Stiles, study much?"

"Ah yeah," Stiles paced, "Well I tend to jump from one subject to the next when I'm doing homework, add that onto the fact my ADHD meds aren't working and wah-la my room looks like a tornado hit it."

"Well your wardrobe isn't totally hideous," Lydia chimed in.

Stiles turned to look at her, and saw her going through his last year wardrobe. He sighed.

She threw his tight wrangler jeans, his howling wolf t-shirt, and his red zip-up hoodie, at him. He sighed again.

"Let's party," Lydia smirked at him, and Allison.


End file.
